and february made me shiver
by Tidia
Summary: When John can't remember lyrics


_and february made me shiver_

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By: Tidia & MOG  
Rating: PG   
Disclaimer: There was no profit made in the writing of this work of fiction. All characters are owned by Henson Productions, and USA Networks and their subsidiary Sci-fi Channel.   
Comments: Did a little borrowing from Misters-McLean, Shakespeare and Frost. I am new to Farscape, but this little idea came to me and well, MOG got involved and then Shawna betaed and this is how it ended up here. Thanks to MOG for her touches and Shawna for making it readable. Comments are welcomed, although privately, please. 

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Part 1:

"Oh, really?" John smirked in response to Aeryn's harsh criticism of his singing. She needed silence to work, while Crichton was fighting a serious jones for a little AM/FM. 

"Well pardon my cute, little human butt," he retorted, "but listening to a leviathan move through space just doesn't cut it for me." 

"Ah, yes," the former Peacekeeper replied without looking up from her module. "I forgot…you need to be constantly entertained." 

The high, curving walls bounced their voices around Moya's docking bay as they each attended to their respective crafts. 

"Sorry," Crichton shot back dryly, "I don't know the Sebeccean Top 40." John shook his head; nobody appreciated how much they could learn from Earth's culture. He lit the welding flame again and once more attacked the metal struts before him. 

"A long, long time ago. . .   
I can still remember   
How that music used to make me smile. . ." 

Yet, he couldn't remember the next set of lyrics. John's voice softened slightly as he repeated the last line, expecting the rest to follow. "How that music used to make me smile. . ." 

Nothing. 

Crichton skipped to the chorus hoping it would jog his memory. 

"An' they were singin'   
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie.   
Drove my Chevy to the levee,   
But the levee was dry.   
Them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye   
singin', This'll be the day that I die,   
This'll be the day that I die." 

Upon reaching the end, the commander dropped words in favor of humming. The lyrics continued to evade his mind's reaching grasp. He snapped the torch off. It was a long song but he used to know ninety percent of the words, even when drunk; and what he didn't know D.K. filled in. 

'Damn.' John rubbed his forehead with an absentminded motion. 'This is stupid. Okay, relax, you're trying too hard.' 

Lighting up the welder, he gripped the torch tighter than he meant to and tried to think of something else to sing. But only one set of words would come to him, only one song. 

John slowly turned down the flame and laid the tool aside. Sun thought she heard him softly sing another line of music and she lifted her head toward the more sober sound. 

"…the day the music died." 

Without a word to Aeryn, John left the docking bay. 

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Part 2:

Moya's cavernous structure once again ricocheted echoes of speech around her living shell. The tone now, however, didn't need acoustics to travel the length of the hall Aeryn walked down. She followed the voice into the training room. 

It had taken a few arns before Sun realized John didn't leave the docking bay just to retrieve something or follow up on a forgotten task. The odd abruptness of his departure scratched at her, finally pushing her away from her work and through Moya's halls. D'argo had pointed her toward the strange verbal ramblings the Peacekeeper now tracked. 

Aeryn listened at the doorway of the exercise room. Each forceful strike against the tough covering of the training bag was punctuated with rhythmic phrases. 

"To be, or not to be, that is the question:   
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer   
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;   
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,   
And by opposing, end them: to die, to sleep   
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end   
the heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks…" 

Sun rested her head against the wall, lulled by Moya's massaging hum. She wasn't sure she understood John's words yet she couldn't shake the dark air that accompanied their rise through the space of the shadowed room. Aeryn pushed away the trepidation and entered. 

"I coulda been big. I coulda been someone. I coulda been a contender. . ." Crichton struck the bag a quick series of rapid blows. He stopped once he realized he was no longer alone in the room. "Yooo, Aeryn." The commander's breath came in heavy exhales and a sheen of sweat glistened across his forehead. 

"Crichton." Sun crossed to him slowly, eventually securing a hold on the opposite side of John's target. "Are you suddenly taking initiative with regard to your training?" 

Her shipmate smiled lazily and tilted his head toward the bag, asking permission to continue his workout. The Peacekeeper grounded her stance and nodded. Aeryn recognized the ensuing moves as combinations she'd taught him. Silence punctured only by Crichton's rough exhales provided soundtrack to the tense energy in the room. 

"Ya know, when my Mom died, I said I would always remember." A left hook jerked the bag sideways before a pair of right jabs pushed it toward Aeryn. 

"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadth me beside the still waters." 

Crichton paused, resting his head against the bag for a moment. Breathy mumbling reached Aeryn's ears. 

"He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his names sake.   
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil…and…FUCK!" John threw a fierce punch, causing Aeryn to take a step back from the force. "Why can't I remember the rest?!" 

Crichton half-heartedly struck the bag with a light hand before turning from his shipmate. "Never forget how to curse, though, do ya?" 

Sun nudged the bag and watched it swing slightly. The problem had revealed itself and Aeryn could sympathize. So many fellow soldier's faces were becoming a blur. Lessons she thought would stay ingrained were fading with each cycle as she adapted to her new circumstances. She was losing so much; yet, she was still surrounded by the familiar - Leviathans, Peacekeepers and the Uncharted Territories. 

She cleared her throat. "You're pushing yourself too much. Your memories are still there." 

"Really? 'Cause somebody sure did a dynamite job frelling with my mind. Scorpy," he yelled to the room, "you got some 'splainin' to do!" 

John still didn't look at Sun and she sensed he was now talking more to himself than to her. "Naaah, that's just a cop out…I started slipping before all that went down. I don't have anything big to hold onto, so I figure if I can stay in touch with all the little stuff then the big blue ball has gotta be just right around the corner, right?" 

Crichton faced Aeryn again, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he let a dry laugh escape. "Well, at least I can remember my ABC's…and if all else fails that's interchangeable with Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." 

Sun stepped away, pushing the bag toward John, hoping to prod him out of his morose mood of longing. "Be sure to let me know if self-pity helps your recall." 

"I didn't invite you," he replied as he shoved the bag back, making it jump slightly in the air. "I can't jog. Can't take a drive…I thought this could help." 

John caught the bag and settled it before lightly throwing several punches with his right hand. "Sometimes saying stuff out loud combined with repeated actions ingrains things in your memory." 

He switched to striking with his left hand. "So when I hit something, I'll remember home." 

Both hands marked out a steady tempo. "Have a Coke and a Smile. May the Force Be With You." Crichton made his voice huskier and shuffled his feet rapidly in a mock boxing dance. "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee." 

"You're not making sense." Sun crossed her arms. She didn't bother hiding the frustration that arose when she couldn't understand her friend's references. 

Crichton didn't respond. He struck the training bag several times and began humming. Aeryn recognized the song he'd been singing in the docking bay. 

John's focus was set wholly on his 'victim' as he threw more punches and spoke again. "Did you know back home there is a Bible in every hotel room?" 

A quick shift and his stance changed to allow Crichton a kick attack at the bag. His speech was fractured by solid slaps to its leathery surface and uneven breathing. "One day I actually woke up…opened my drawer…and expected to see one…Mornings are the worst." 

He broke from his exercises and ran a gloved hand down his face. "I forgot I was in the land of the Goddess. No Passover, Christmas, Koran, Torah, Buddhism, Confucianism…nothing familiar." John let his head fall back till he was staring upward. "It's hard to keep the faith when you can't remember it," he whispered. 

"Your memories and dreams are still there." Aeryn tapped her own chest with two fingers then came nearer to him. "You remember what you're supposed to remember. The rest isn't important." Reaching out, she cupped his chin briefly. "The rest isn't important." 

John closed his eyes. "When I wake up and think I'm back home, in my own place, smelling the coffee brewing, maybe a warm body next to me, waiting for my alarm clock to go off so WRDU can tell me it's time to start another day…those things seem really important." 

Suddenly, the commander opened his eyes and winked, breaking the solemn mood. "Ah, it could be worse…I could be in Philadelphia." 

Aeryn playfully gave him a light slap on the cheek. "Go to bed, Crichton." 

Sun made her way to the door but turned when she didn't hear him following her. John still stood in front of the training bag. He threw a couple of punches, ignoring the hollow echoes that bounced his voice around the empty room. 

"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep."   


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The End

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